Payback’s a… Well, You Know
by PlatinumRoseLady
Summary: Or "What Happens When The Author's In A Really Evil Mood". Now doesn't that just SCREAM "Read me right now"?


**Author's Notes: And once again, I've got some explaining to do. *Thinks* Man, if I had a dollar for every time I've used that phrase…**

**Anyway, I go the idea for this ficlet from the amazing ****ciziwejes who, on top of writing a bunch of other things that are just super-awesome, wrote a drabble called "Forgive Me".**

**Said drabble made me laugh time I cried. She followed it up with two more drabbles called "Forgive Me: The Sequel", which are even funnier. You have to go read them for my story to make sense.**

**So go read them. I can wait.**

…

**Back so soon? Yay. Now you can read this and it'll make sense. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sam or Dean – which I think after this story they'd be really grateful for.**

**Language Warning: A few bad words.**

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

**Payback's a… Well, You Know**

Sam Winchester's hand hit the alarm clock right before it went off, and stole a quick look over at his sleeping brother. Dean was sprawled on his stomach, hair tousled with sleep, snoring softly.

He looked so peaceful that Sam nearly had a pang of guilt over what he was about to do.

Then he remembered standing in a motel room half-naked, his clothes vanished, replaced by a duffle bag full of lingerie. The guilt melted away like spit in the Sahara.

The grin on Sam's face as he got up and quickly dressed was more than a little evil. If Dean had been awake, he'd have been nervous.

But he wasn't awake, and therefore the elder Winchester was a total sitting duck.

Sam got to work.

He pulled his little arsenal out from under his bed, quickly and quietly got things ready in the bathroom. Then he walked over and picked up Dean's duffle bag, and shoved it under his bed. He stood totally still as Dean moved around a little, a faint smile on his face as he murmured "C'mon Bev, you 'n Jane don't need to fight over me…"

Sam rolled his eyes. Even in his dreams, Dean was a total dog.

Sam then walked over to the door, slowly opened it, and got the other things ready for the big performance. The bucket was a little wobbly, but under Sam's very capable hands he got it to stand still. He picked up the long string that ran from one handle, walked over a little closer to Dean's bed.

Gripping the string a little tighter, Sam took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs "DEAN! WAKE UP! SOMEONE'S STOLEN THE CAR!!!!"

Dean's eyes snapped open, and with a roar of primal fury he bolted from his bed and charged through the open door, dressed in his boxers and nothing else. Sam watched him dash through the door, the grin on his face showing off his dimples even as his eyes were practically gleaming with mischief. Any second now…

Dean ran through the opened door, Sam's panicked shout ringing his ears, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. He barely noticed the morning chill as it hit his bare chest, not to mention the pebbles and such digging into his feet. The red haze in his eyes lifted suddenly, however, when he saw his beloved Baby resting right where he'd parked her the night before. Dean frowned, scratched his head, and for the first time noticed the goose pimples running up and down his arms and legs. He turned and walked back to their motel room, more confused than angry.

"Sam, what the hell are you –"

He never finished.

The second his foot hit the carpet, Sam yanked on the string, and the bucket of paint balanced over the door frame covered his older brother in a fetching shade of purple.

For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the steady_ dripdripdrip_ of paint as it fell from various portions of Dean half-naked anatomy onto the piece of plastic Sam had laid on the floor after Dean had charged out.

After all, there was no reason the motel room should suffer.

Dean slowly wiped the paint from his face, stared down at the streaks of color now decorating his form. "Purple?! Seriously?! Sam, why the fuck –"

"Th-thought you'd w-want to m-match your idol - B-Barney…" Sam couldn't hold it in any longer and collapsed onto Dean's bed, laughing hysterically.

Dean gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders, marched past his brother (who was in serious danger of hyperventilating), and slammed the bathroom door. He avoided looking into the mirror, instead focusing on the flash of purple and green in the corner of his eye.

A snarl curled his upper lip as he regarded the poster on the bathroom door. He reached out and tore the extra large "Barney" poster off with one savage rip, wadded it up and tossed in the waste basket, even as Sam's howls of laughter on the other side of the door increased.

Before he jumped into the shower (Dean knew in his heart that Sam would never use permanent paint, and he was right), he looked over at the towels and groaned. Twin toothy smiles greeted him from the identical "Barney" towels draped over the towel rack.

"You really SUCK, Sam!"

"I-I know, I know…" Sam was giggling now, actually giggling like a delighted child. A loud *whump* told Dean his brother had laughed himself right off the bed and was probably laying on the floor, too weak with laughter to stand. Dean would have called him on it, if his attention hadn't been distracted by the final part of the joke.

Dean's fists began to clench as he thought of various, excruciatingly PAINFUL ways to get Sam back for this latest stunt.

Neatly folded on top of his clothes was a pair on bright yellow socks.

With Barney on them.


End file.
